


Thieves

by duchessbird



Series: Volleyball Crush - Haikyuu Oneshots [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Timeskip, Romance, Volleyball, akayukie, haikyuu oneshot, mizukashi makes yet another appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessbird/pseuds/duchessbird
Summary: The world, Akashi realized, was filled with thieves.And whether or not Shirofuku Yukie realized she was one of them was a whole different story.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Shirofuku Yukie
Series: Volleyball Crush - Haikyuu Oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083893
Kudos: 3





	Thieves

There had been a thief going around Fukurodani Academy around the time Akashi first fell for Shirofuku Yukie. 

It wasn’t like the thief had actually stolen important things like money or a teacher’s wallet, but it had still caused a riot amongst the students, specifically the feisty ones. High school was the top breeding ground for gossip and rumors, after all. The least the teachers could do was hold an assembly to warn about the evil of theft, but what could they really do?

Besides, a missing eraser and a stolen gym bag weren’t going to spell the end of the world. 

However, Akashi being Akashi hadn’t actually been affected by these mishaps, mostly because he was a high believer in NIMBY. Not In My Backyard. Anything that hadn’t happened to him didn’t concern him. Unless of course it would affect his team as a whole. Other than that he liked to keep detached. Nonpartisan. But only because that word sounded French. 

But alas, his involvement was highly needed when the thief started attacking the volleyball club. This was around the first week of the second semester of his second year at high school, and he’d already gotten to know the club and its managers pretty well. He’d come in through the doors and had seen a rather inconsolable Bokuto lying face down on the floor. 

Emo Bokuto resulted in many things, one of them being late practice. Akashi knew he had to do something but he also wanted to conserve his energy. He slowly skirted around the disaster zone and put his bag on the bench. 

Someone tapped his shoulder and when he turned he saw Yukie, worrying the hem of her sleeve with her thumb. She’d always looked sleepy in his opinion, but she was actually very smart, seeing that she often had to conspire with him to revive Bokuto when he decided the world’s karma had descended on his shoulders. 

“Akashi,” she said quietly. “He’s been like this for half an hour.”

“What happened?” Akashi said in turn, momentarily sighing. 

She shrugged. “Apparently something of his was stolen. I don’t particularly support his behaviour though. I feel like confronting him.”

“Join the coven.”

“Hilarious, but I don’t specialize in witchcraft.”

“What do you think would even work? We tried B before. And A failed, and so did C.”

“I’d say we use method F, except we don’t have a method F.”

“Someone needs to invent a premature teenager coping mechanism.”

“Someone needs to reinvent Bokuto.” 

He whistled slowly in agreement. She grinned. “Nah, bless. I love the boy. He’s a good person. Just gets moody, it’s the age after all.”

“Smart ones,” Suzumeda called. “Thought of a solution yet?”

Shirofuku, after deciphering that Akashi was not in the mood yet, walked back over to Bokuto. Akashi watched as she squatted down next to him and patted him gently on the head. “Bokuto, can you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t,” Bokuto moaned. “It’s ghastly.”

“We can only help if you tell us.”

“My heart, Yukippe. It’s been stolen.” Bokuto raised his head and let out a melodramatic gasp. “It’s been taken, you hear me? Gone. Vamoosh.”

“You look pretty much alive to me,” Akashi said. He joined Shirofuku and stared down at the ace. 

“Figuratively speaking, Agashee. Not my real heart. The vessel in which I had installed my love.”

“Someone took your lunchbox?” Shirofuku asked, alarmed. 

Akashi had forgotten how close the two were, so much so that she could often interpret Bokuto’s poetry at times no one else could. Bokuto also often took her money and never returned it and they both enjoyed food with a passion. No wonder why he’d open up to her first. 

Shirofuku bit her lip, now clearly as anxious as her spiky-haired friend. “That’s horrible. And you were only just telling me your mother packed honey soy chicken and rice. How delicious. What a terrible situation.”

“You don’t have to look as depressed as him, you know,” Suzumeda murmured, grinning fondly. 

“I can’t help it. I sympathize with him.”

“Can’t we just buy you a new lunch, Bokuto?” said Konoha exasperatedly. 

Like hell would that work. Akashi knew Bokuto liked things to be returned, not repaired. It was part of his ego system, which would need a jackhammer to even make a small crack. Bokuto groaned again. 

“Right,” said Shirofuku. “We’re catching that thief.”

Akashi frowned. “We are?”

“Yes. This lunchbox theft was crossing the red line. Who’s with me?”

“Me,” all the boys said unenthusiastically. 

And so for the whole week, they progressed on searching for the thief. After practices--practices which Bokuto either didn’t attend or didn’t even try his best in--the team would discuss what they’d found out about the mischief maker, either in the gym, a cafe, or someone’s house. 

It was actually bloody good fun.

Akashi didn’t have many friends since elementary school given his quiet and laid back attitude but something about this team made him feel welcomed. It was a nice feeling. And so he complied with whatever ridiculous plans made to stop the mastermind, like spying on the previous victims and gathering all similarities between the thefts, all the way until they had narrowed it down to one third year boy named Mizukashi. 

They had gathered in the gym to discuss who would confront him. Sipping ice-cold water, Akashi had expected Bokuto to raise his hand, or maybe Komi. But it wasn’t them. Once again, it was Shirofuku. 

This surprised him. In the few weeks he’d gotten to know her better, he’d noticed she usually avoided trouble unless the trouble concerned the ace of their team. He looked at her. Nibbling a rice ball, she had all the determination in the world. 

“Why?” he asked her, after everyone had left and he was the last to slip on his shoes. 

“Why, huh,” said Shirofuku. She looked lost in thought. For the first time, Akashi noticed her hair was more reddish that it was brown, like someone had set fire to the branches of a bonsai tree. It clarified her eyes, made her heart-shaped face look defined and graceful. She was pretty. Very pretty. 

“Maybe it’s because I feel a sense of justice around me these days?” she said finally. “I don’t know. Or maybe I just like seeing Bokuto happy. Not just him. Anyone in general. Even you.”

“I don’t look,” he said cautiously, “happy to you?”

“Happy doesn’t have a look, Akashi,” Shirofuku said, with a small laugh. “It’s a type of smile. I’ve seen you use it more than ever these days. Congratulations.”

The next day, an announcement was made over the PA system that a girl had been punched by a third year. Akashi had been in the middle of a maths equation when he heard that. His blood ran cold and his hand, which had been holding his pen just fine, kind of froze. All his interest in finding x slipped and slid away. 

Immediately at recess, he and the rest of the team rushed their way to the infirmary. Shirofuku was slumped on the bed with an arm draped over her face, with Suzumeda spoon feeding her pudding. “My cavalry men,” she pronounced when she saw them. “Your arrival has been anticipated.”

“THAT BASTARD,” yelled Bokuto, cocking his arm and flexing it like he was going to punch someone. “Where is he? I can beat him up. I’m good at that.”

“Calm down, Bokuto,” said Washio. His gaze flitted to the manager. “Are you alright, Shirofuku? Can we see your face?”

She lifted her arm and Akashi saw a large purple bruise surrounding her eye. “Damn,” said Sarukui. “That looks like it hurts.”

“It does.”

Akashi walked forward as if he was being propelled. Suddenly he had questions, lots and lots of questions, but he felt sweaty and unprepared. He knelt before her and waited until she’d sat up properly to meet his eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” was the first thing he said. 

Shirofuku smiled again, except now it was more like a critter-like smirk. “I’m actually proud of myself. I managed to clock him on the head. Besides, I don’t blame him.”

“You don’t blame someone who hit your eye?”

“He was suffering from kleptomania, that’s what his parents said when they picked him up. Poor thing. Although if he wanted the food he could have just asked.”

“It didn’t give him any right to steal my chicken,” Bokuto huffed. 

“This isn’t about you, Bokuto,” Akashi said firmly. He ignored the boy’s gasp and turned back to Shirofuku again. A strand of her hair escaped and brushed her face as she shifted in her bed, and instinctively he reached forward to move it away. 

He couldn’t stop himself in time. 

His touch glided over her forehead and swept the strand of hair away, tucking it behind her ear. The whole time, Shirofuku stared at him. He saw her eyes, framed by lashes so thin and angelic they looked like they were fine-combed. He saw her bruise and he also saw her smooth vanilla skin surrounding it. He saw what had been and what had changed. 

The whole room was silent. And then Shirofuku’s lips stretched into a smile and she raised her hand to take his own. She flattened her palm against his and pretended to squint. 

Akashi’s hands were much larger than hers. Larger, darker, stronger, veined and scarred at the knuckles from when he’d helped his mother peel carrots and potatoes for dinner. Hers were tiny and cool, like layers of silk, like the inside of a pillowcase. It was easy to tell who was the man and who was the woman. A child could. 

“Very big hands, Keiji,” she murmured, flipping them over. “Kinda scary. Like a bear. Of course, a bear would have paws. Not that I’m saying your hands are paws.”

“Right,” he said. 

On the outside, he was cool and expressionless, but on the inside, his system was malfunctioning. Shirofuku turned to Komi. “You guys brought me food or nah?” And the moment was lost, completely and forever. 

Ever since then, he’d had it big and bad. A crush on his own club manager. It wasn’t something silly and ridiculous, no, not for Akashi. Akashi was mature and practical. He didn’t do one-time infatuations. In Shirofuku, he saw a woman he’d like to spend the rest of his life with, someone who’d hold his hand and tell him, later one when he’d forget how Bokuto looked when he was grumpy or how the gym smelled after rain, in soft words: hey. Don’t you remember? It was like this...

Sometime through his third year, he’d noticed how everyone else in the team had noticed and had already started shipping silently. Part of him was greatly disturbed but part of him also found it curious. Did that mean Shirofuku knew? 

Of course, once Bokuto found out, he didn’t exactly make things easier. 

Akashi wasn’t sure why he fell for Shirofuku. But just seeing her made him feel happy. Content. And she changed something in him, that resigned feeling of not being concerned. She was the girl that made his palms sweat and his heart race, but best of all, she made him laugh. 

“You should tell her, you know,” said Washio, one day as they sat at the gym steps, waiting for the coach to show up. 

“I think I will,” said Akashi. 

Bokuto choked. “What?” he screamed. 

“Don’t tell me you like her too. That’s bad, Kotaro. You’ve already exhausted Akashi enough.” Komi shook his head, but there was light in his eyes. “At least wait until after high school.”

“No, I’m happy for him,” Bokuto snorted. “I mean, it’s not like I’m attracted to her. He can have her. I just didn’t expect him to be so...what’s the word I’m looking for, Washio?”

“Straightforward.”

“Oya. Straightforward.”

Akashi stood and crumpled his juicebox in his hands, before throwing it in the bin. It sailed in the air, like a missile, landing with perfect precision on its destination. “I’ll give her something,” he said. “On Valentine’s day.”

“But you’re not a girl.”

“I don’t have to be one to give her something.”

“Love has fooled your heart,” said Bokuto melodramatically. “The vessel in which you install your love.”

“Literature,” said Washio. 

The day came. He’d never felt so calm before, like he’d been rehearsing for this for ages. Akashi moved through the corridor, ignoring all the love confessions occurring all around him, words of affection mingling in the air along with the faint scent of a thousand types of chocolates, hand baked by girls longing to steal a heart. 

He reached Shirofuku’s class. The door was opened, a girl ducked through. The parting of her voluminous hair revealed Yukie standing near the window, with a boy standing in front of her. He was holding a box of peanut butter fudge. Her favourite. 

Mizukashi. 

Akashi didn’t move. He watched. He admired, for the first and last time, how beautiful she was. Shirofuku was long-legged, with a slight waist, firm breasts he’d sometimes brush his arm against accidentally in practice and freeze at the touch, flower-crowned with red hair, and bestowed with lips that made the word ‘smile’ feel ashamed. 

He’d often wondered how it would be like to kiss those lips, see what she might do. 

“I know I might have punched you,” said Mizukashi. “But I like you now.”

“Thank you for the fudge,” said Shirofuku quietly. She reached out and took the box from him, which probably surprised the boy. Akashi would have snorted. Food was always a priority, no matter the situation. 

“So will you go out with me?” said Mizukashi, stubborn as hell.

Shirofuku let her gaze drift, quite literally--she was very good at letting her gaze drift--and she rooted it onto Akashi. For a while, he stared at her, and then he felt the heat at his cheeks and looked away. 

“Do you love me, Mizukashi?” said Yukie.

“Of course?” said Mizukashi. 

She reached up, on her tippy toes. Akashi saw her kiss his cheek. He didn’t see anything else, because he’d already left, almost running down the corridor, breathless, shaken. He didn’t hear his footsteps pounding on the floor but he heard his pants, his blood rushing through his ears. 

Something had been stolen. His chest felt empty. 

*** 

“It’s the gut,” said Shirofuku. 

The woman stared at her bewilderedly, clutching the hand of her child like it was a trophy. It was a common practice of the uncertain mothers. These women were so shaken by the standards of bourgeoisies that they often needed moral support, support they sought in their offspring in the most disguised ways. Shirofuku had seen many of these kinds of people before. It was part of her routine now. 

“Most skin conditions are a result of problems in the gut,” she further explained. “In fact, most diseases. That’s why in order to help your daughter, we must cleanse her insides. Make that body of yours healthy and strong so it can fight all on its own.”

“Hear that, Niko?” said the mother falsely. “We have to make your body strong again! Yay!”

“I don’t wanna eat brollocoli,” the child spat. 

Shirofuku suppressed a snort. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like vegetables, not many kids do. How about we start by avoiding things rather than approaching things?”

“What do you mean?” said the mother.

“For example, there are certain foods people with eczema can’t have. Dairy. Spicy food. Sugary food, try to cut down on that. Imagine there’s a little dragon army inside your tummy, Niko. And these dragons, they hate cheese, spicy shrimp, and chocolate chip muffins.”

“I like em,” said Niko. 

“Yes, but what do you think will happen when you feed them these foods? Foods that they hate?”

“They’ll get fat.”

“Well, yes, but they’ll also get angry.” Shirofuku gently brought up the child’s arm and traced a soft finger across the patchy red skin. “See this, Niko? The dragons have been trying to burn you. They’ve been telling you they don’t want cheese and cake, they want something else.”

The mother and Niko left the shop in a hefty argument about which shop to go to first, the pharmacy, the grocery store, or a dragon-tamer department. 

Shirofuku sighed wearily and immediately closed the shop. There were invoices to be checked and boxes to be unpacked. It wasn’t helping that it was rainy weather, her favourite napping weather. She wanted to go home. 

She was a nutritionist in Tokyo, with her own little shop where she sold herbs, herbal medicines, and free advice for overweight men or cigarette-addicted women who didn’t know how to restart their lives. When she opened the door to the storage room, she found her assistant, Danika, stacking the shelf with turmeric tablets. 

“I just closed up,” said Shirofuku. 

The girl popped her gum. “So?”

“Ispo facto, you can leave.”

“Thanks, bae. I have no idea where to put the probiotics.”

“Just leave them, I’ll do it.”

Danika cocked her head. “You sure? You look hella tired.”

“Well, I do work more than you do.”

“Fair enough. Have you seen the news lately? Better not go out by yourself.”

“Why?”

“Some rapist going around town. Fine, geez not a rapist. A thief. Robbed a few houses, can’t remember which street.”

Shirofuku rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Danika, they’re just street names.”

“I have twenty one cousins and seven siblings, Yukie. Names aren’t my forte.”

She left the shop, popping her gum irritatingly. 

Shirofuku packed, cleaned, and worked. She’d put some music on, but her mind was elsewhere. What she’d said earlier, to the uncertain mother. Avoiding rather than approaching. She’d done a lot of that back in high school. 

She’d liked Akashi since the first time she’d lay her eyes on him. He was handsome, as handsome as they can get. Sultry, moody, a roguish kind of handsome. Large hands. A killer smile. Hair that begged to be tousled. And a body that belonged to one of those western models that surfed the whole day and worked out the whole night. 

See, the problem with her was that she fell in love too quickly. So she’d dismissed this crush on Akashi, except she often found it haunted her more than any other had. Trouble was he liked her back. At least, she knew so much too late. 

She and Mizukashi hadn’t even dated. She’d kissed him on the cheek and then she had apologized, saying there was someone else who had purloined her heart. Then she’d gone to find Akashi. She’d searched the whole school and in the end had given up. 

He’d been absent the next day. Monday morning, it was as if nothing had happened. 

When they’d graduated, she and the rest of the team including Suzumeda had still stayed close, but there was no more talk of childish romance. She’d heard from Washio that Akashi was an editor for a shounen manga series. She’d had to smile at that one. 

Half an hour later, Shirofuku was scurrying through the streets of Tokyo, bundled in her coat and scarf. She was renting an apartment till she’d saved up enough to buy her own. Admittedly it wasn’t the nicest looking of places. But it was the home of the Holy Fridge. 

Where her fridge went, she followed. 

Her hands were almost blue with the cold when she took out her keys as she hopped up the doorsteps. But she stopped when she saw the door. It was slightly ajar. Heck, ajar wasn’t even the right word. 

It was damn wide open and the doorknob wasn’t there anymore, it was missing. In its place was a rather large gaping hole, like a toothless smile. 

“Shit,” she said. 

Danika’s words floated into her head. 

Either she’d ripped off the knob before she’d left for work or someone else had gotten into her house. Shirofuku wasn’t dumb. 

Minutes later the police swarmed the street. Lights flashed, men yelled. Yellow and black tapes were strung everywhere like cobwebs. Shirofuku was not accustomed to this situation. But she wasn’t exactly calm. Maybe she was panicking. She needed a hug. Where was Suzumeda when she needed her?

And then she felt it. She wasn’t sure what touched her first, tiny droplets of rain or someone’s hand on her shoulder, warm, gentle. 

“Akashi?” she said. 

Barely recognizable under the layers of scarf and coat, he made a grunting sound. Perhaps not the best of answers, but enough to let her know it was him. Her heart swelled. Suddenly she wanted to cry. 

Mizukashi strolled forward, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Well, it’s pretty bad, Shirofuku,” he mused, scribbling something in his notepad as he talked. “We searched the house. The guy took all the food, that’s one. And if you had any jewelry inside your sugar canister, they’re gone now.”

“But they were for my wedding,” she said in a small voice. Akashi’s grip on her tightened. She imagined the currents of his warmth seeping from the rough surface of his palm, through her coat, through her shirt, nuzzling her skin like baby fireflies. 

“I’m sorry,” said Mizukashi, clearly unsure of how to react. He turned to Akashi. “You the boyfriend?”

“No,” he said. “I was just passing by.”

“They all say that. It’s alright you know. It’s legal to sleep with a nutritionist.”

“Mizukashi,” Shirofuku snapped. 

The man laughed. “Take her home, Akashi Keji. She won’t be sleeping here for a while, not until we get the fingerprints.”

In Akashi’s car, all was silent. It smelled like lemons and Akashi’s hair. “Been a while, huh,” she said. It was the only thing she could do. 

“It has,” he replied. When the lights turned red, he passed her some gloves and turned up the heater. She thanked him. He gave her a warm smile. 

“Are you sure about this, by the way?” he asked, as he accelerated. She noticed he passed the speed limit a bit. “I mean, I thought you’d hang at Suzumeda’s.”

“She’s out of town. Some kind of sports thing. But I’m fine. With staying over at your place, I mean.” She took a deep breath. Something was wrong with her tongue. “Are you..okay? With having me?”

“Of course,” he said, blinking. 

They dissolved into laughter. 

Then they caught up. On lots of things, what they’d done after school, university life, vacations, a new manga series, the different types of herbs associated with hayfever. Talking with Akashi was like walking through a river. It was cool and it flowed and it moved with you, every step of the way. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said when he’d let her in. A small apartment, cozy, parquetry and picture frames. Still smelled of his hair. 

Dinner was ramen. He’d apologized for not being able to rustle up something better. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not too good a cook either, but if I end up staying tomorrow, I’ll make something.”

“Thank you,” he said. 

The spare room was hers for the night. 

Shirofuku tossed and turned in her bed that day. For once in her life, she wasn’t stressing over the newest shipment of fish oil tablets or the lemon balm stock. She thought of the man next door to her, a man so well grown and so utterly handsome, so very kind, a man whose scent was threaded into her bedsheets. 

She dreamed of him, all the way till morning. 

The next day, Danika had told her to stay home and ‘cope’ after the incident, so she did. Akashi worked from home most of the time, so she spent the day doing crosswords and puzzles on his couch, sometimes yelling for help, sometimes shuffling over to make space so he could sit and share some tea. 

It was a good couple of days. So far, Mizukashi hadn’t been able to receive much information about the thief, but in all honesty, Shirofuku didn’t really care. 

“Damn good news for you,” Mizukashi said four days later. She’d put him on speaker since she and Akashi were watching volleyball reruns on the couch. 

Akashi took the phone. “Spill it.”

“Oh, boyfriend’s here. Hi. Can I have the woman back now?”

“I can hear you just fine,” Shirofuku supplied. “What is it?”

“The thief left a calling card. We found it underneath your sink, of all places.”

“So he’s some creep. What’s the big deal? I’m watching a game.”

“Well, the guy’s stupid, that’s what. See, he didn’t leave fingerprints. But I’m guessing he didn’t wear gloves.”

“Then how did he steal,” Akashi muttered, “with his mouth?”

Shirofuku watched the movements of his lips even as he said it. She imagined his mouth stealing hers. Nice. 

“He used tissue,” Mizukashi announced. 

“Right,” said Shirofuku. She made a mental note to send him some ginseng.

“I’m dead serious. He thought he was being elusive and smart so he decided to leave a calling card, right? But you have a pipe problem. Got his hands went, soaked through the tissue, probably tore it even. Left a fingerprint or two. We have your guy.”

Her breath hitched. “Name?”

“Junichi Goro. Sound familiar?”

“I know a devil with that name,” said Akashi, “or was it a pornstar.” Mizukashi snorted. 

The detective then sent instructions, what to do, what to say, when she could come home. She didn’t feel like moving by the time he disconnected the call. Akashi was silent. She felt the heat emanating from his cup, his body, or maybe it was her own cheeks, set on fire. 

She didn’t want to say goodbye. 

“We should have a drink,” she said. “Before I leave. Soju. Been ages since I’ve had a hangover.”

“Miss the migraines?” he asked with a drawl. That was Akashi now. Always drawling, with a hint of tease, a hint of gallantry. 

“You betcha,” Shirofuku said in turn. They continued watching the volleyball game. Someone scored. She didn’t even realize. 

The next day, Shirofuku went back to work where she had a few consultations as usual, plus a quick tutorial on how to whip up fruit juices for the uncertain mothers gathered in her store. She closed by six and went to pick up some beer and a box of chocolates to thank Akashi for the stay. It reminded her of Valentine’s. 

Her phone rang when she was paying up. It was Suzumeda, calling from somewhere in Nagasaki. They chatted for a while before Shirofuku had meekly asked her about her relationship with Konoha Akinori. Her best friend and her boyfriend were always going on and off, breaking up and returning and repeating the same damn routine again. “What the hell,” sighed Suzumeda. “I think I’m still crazy for him even after all this chaos.”

“You’d still give him a second chance?”

“Of course.” Pause. She heard her laugh, heard a man’s voice, then the sound of giggles, like she was being tickled. Then Suzumeda spoke again: “Yukie, honey, no one’s getting anywhere if we don’t follow our hearts.”

“No matter how stale and corrugated they can be?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Except hearts can’t be stale. Or corrugated.” 

“Facts,” said Shirofuku. She bid farewell to her friend and scuttled up the doorsteps of Akashi’s home. 

It was so very familiar, so very normal now, to turn that knob, to place her shoes near the door, to step into fluffy slippers that Akashi said belonged to his mother when she visited. Which she rarely did. If someone asked her to draw out this house, she would be able to without the blink of an eye. Every crevice, every crack. Every imperfection that seemed so perfect it didn’t bother her in the least. 

Akashi was at the dining table, surprisingly, with a manga spread out in front of him. His head was resting in his hands. “Wow, dreary much,” she said, dropping her bags on the floor. “You okay? Did the manga fail or something?”

“Nope,” said Akashi. He looked up. His eyes were shining. “Yukie, we did it! Thirty five million copies sold!” 

Something rushed in her, a flooding light. She faltered. But then he got up and then he was hugging her, enveloping her and anchoring her to his large chest, squeezing her so gently yet with a passion that quenched her thoughts and her questions and her worries. 

Shirofuku wrapped her arms around him and they stayed embraced like that for a while, before he grew conscious of what he was doing and he retracted his hands, jerking them clumsily so they would fall at his sides. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I...just caught up in the moment.”

“That’s fine,” she said, a tad breathlessly. “We should definitely have drinks now.”

And he was laughing now, a loud throaty laugh that made her heart ache with love. God, she loved Akashi Keji. “Alcohol it is then,” he said with a silly grin, and they trooped to the couch and feasted on the treasures in her shopping bags. 

“To success and manga,” he said, smiling. 

“To fish oil tablets,” she countered. She could never, ever get sick of his laugh. 

She never held her liquor well but apparently he did, so that was a thing. “Ugh,” she groaned after she’d consumed a quarter of the bottle. “My head. It feels like granite.”

“All the more of an excuse not to go back home, huh,” he said under his breath. The TV was turned on and a news reporter smiled efficiently at the screen. 

She blinked. “What?”

“What did I say?” said Akashi immediately, eyes widened. 

“Something about me going home?”

“Oh. No, I meant that today you were. Going home, I mean. Today.”

“Tomorrow,” she corrected him. 

“Ah.”

Shirofuku couldn’t feel her toes. Her head felt like she was sprouting sakura and vanilla from her brain. “Akashi,” she murmured. “Why...why didn’t you give me the chocolate?”

Silence grew thick in the air between them. The man put down the bottle of soju, adjusted his collar. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said slowly. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Valentine’s day. You know, I never dated Mizukashi. Not once.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath. Could the news anchor stop blathering so she could focus? “Yukie?” he said. Now he sounded small. 

“I liked you, back then. I’m not sure why.” She rolled over, wedging out the cushion under her legs. “But I did. I thought you liked me too, which is why I never dated Mizukashi. Never.”

“You never dated him.”

“Ahuh.”

“And you liked me.”

Shirofuku grabbed the remote and shut the damn woman up. “Yes.”

Akashi closed the cap of the bottle and leaned back in his seat. “I liked you too, actually,” he said, like it was show and tell time in class. “Around the time Mizukashi started stealing. I had it big time.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?”

“Well, I didn’t know it was requited.”

“How cruel. Cruel, Akashi, cruel.”

“Isn’t life always?”

There was something about this casual banter, the way his eyes now roamed her body like an artist deciding which wall to begin emblazing his mural. A hunger only she knew. “I suppose,” she said, tilting her glass so the last of the drink slipped down her throat. “Either way, there’s nothing we can do now. The past is in the past.”

“Unfortunately,” he agreed. 

“You know,” she said. “I feel like you want to do something.”

He stiffened. “Humans always want to do something.”

“Yes, but something specific. Something bad. Help me out, man. You know what I’m talking about.”

His eyes, a smoky, sexy, gunmetal blue, trained on her. “Enlighten me.”

So she got up, a tad wobbly, and staggered over to his couch. She’d planned on sitting down like a civilized homo sapien but her coordination had been heavily diluted by the alcohol, so she ended up sprawled over his chest. She blinked. “This is a demonstration,” she explained, and then she pressed her lips to his, and all was lost. 

Akashi didn’t move. But then, after a few seconds, he lifted his hands, snaking them around her. He kissed her back. He tasted of wine and salt and remembrance, of forgotten days. His lips moved against hers like telling a silent story. “Yukie,” he said huskily, when they parted for breath. 

She pushed away her fringe. “Mhm?”

“You mean this? You...want me to kiss you?”

“For goodness’s sake, yes. I thought that much was obvious.”

“Then we do it properly,” he whispered, and he was sitting up, taking her with him. He settled her in his lap and she twined her arms around his neck, hands traveling from his nape to his shoulders, adoring his build, his muscles from years of volleyball. “You’re touchy,” he murmured, tilting her chin. “I like it.”

“Only for you,” was what she managed to say, before his lips stole hers. 

It was wicked, it was lovely, it was overflowing with desire, with a longing kept restrained for years now. “I have never suffered for four days,” Akashi growled, pushing her hair back to kiss her neck, “more than I have since you moved in. Yukie. You’re so damn beautiful.”

She gasped as he planted a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the base of her throat. 

“You suffered for four days?” Shirofuku would have laughed except she couldn’t. “It’s been years for me.”

“It was agony.” He kissed her harder. She found that her hands were easily straying him, his chest, his jaw. Why wasn’t he touching her? “I want to do everything with you.”

His words, coupled with the mastery of his lips, sent shivers down her spine. “Do everything then.”

Kisses everywhere. Her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. Thievery. “It hurts,” he rasped, as he struggled to control himself. “For some people.”

“Make it hurt. It’s worth it.”

His grip on her arm, it tightened. “I don’t want to do this if it’s just because of the alcohol.”

Shirofuku wanted to scream, shed her clothes. It was burning in here. She wanted him, wanted him with a desperation only equally matched by the fire raging in his eyes. It was like she’d been throwing sticks upon sticks into a huge pile for five years and now she had struck it with lightning, a great, explosive bonfire of need and lust. 

She soaked her fingers in his hair, his spellbinding, rich black tresses, and twisted so she could lean and kiss him in the sensitive spot at his neck, close to his ear. He stopped breathing. “I love you,” she whispered. 

And then she licked him. 

She had never seen Akashi move faster than he did at that moment. “Definitely not alcohol,” were the words that escaped his lips before he tackled her down so that he was above her. This time there were no words, no teasing. When he’d kissed her lips swollen he looked up at her for the slightest askance of permission. She barely managed a nod. And he pushed her shirt up so that it puddled above her chest, unclasped her bra and then very slowly cupped her breast, hissing in pleasure at the contact. 

His hands, so very large and attractive, moulded her breasts with the expertise and the finesse of someone who’d probably imagined this sort of scene before. “Do you like that?” he said, voice getting rather hoarse. 

She tried to speak but she moaned. He took it as a yes. 

He leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, and this time the moan came out more like a shriek. “Ticklish,” she squeaked, face flushing in embarrassment. Akashi--the cheek of him!--smirked and let his tongue roll across the hardened bud, before he released it and started suckling at the other. 

Clothes were indeed shedded, until both were naked on the couch. The TV and the soju had been forgotten. Shirofuku eyed his arousal with dazed focus. Akashi, sensing her discomfort, stopped trailing kisses down her stomach and sat up, trying to calm down. “Are you...scared?” he said. 

She covered her face. “N-not really.”

“If you’re scared then--”

“We’re not backing down, Keiji, no no no.”

“I was going to suggest we take things slowly,” he said, with an amused smile, “but I guess you’re right.”

Her heart was exacerbated with love again. This man, being patient with her when other men might not do the same. “Put it in,” she breathed, “but give me some time.”

His breathing was hot and rapid when he leaned over her, grunting, until his manhood brushed her entrance. She almost jumped like she’d been electrified. “Tell me when to stop,” he said, and then he was entering her. A small moan fell from his lips, the sound so guttural and husky compared to hers. He was big, which was expected, but he was slow, careful. 

Slowly, she got used to it. Once or twice she asked him to wait, because it did hurt, she wasn’t going to lie. But then the pain turned to pleasure. “Fuck,” he said roughly. His brain clearly wasn’t giving him leverage to use a more academic description of his feelings. 

On her sigh of approval he moved faster, slowly but surely, until their moans mixed and his name was scattered from her lips like her very life depended on it. He thrust harder now, and she raked her nails into his back. “Akashi--” she gasped, and then, like he’d been struck with lightning, he came. 

It filled her not only physically, but filled her with a wholeness she had never experienced before. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, panting. Shirofuku felt her face flame with a bright red blush. 

They’d did it. 

“Condom,” he suddenly said. 

Her brain fizzed. “What?”

“We didn’t use one.”

She started laughing exhaustedly, then she started crying. “What happened?” he said urgently, sitting up and staring at her in concern. 

“I’m so happy,” she sniffled. “I’m so happy, Akashi.”

Akashi’s face melted into a smile, so buttery and soft she started crying again. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair, whispering, “I’m happy, too.”

***

There had been a thief going around Fukurodani Academy around the time Akashi first fell for Shirofuku Yukie. 

The thief had nothing to do with his infatuation for her. But it was simply the effect. He fell in love with the Shirofuku who cared, who stood up for her friends, who bothered to make sure everyone around her was happy and justice had been served. He fell in love with his club manager.

Love made him concerned. Akashi never usually was concerned. But then he started being concerned, not just with Yukie, but with everyone. Like she had taken away the blindfold covering his eyes, made him see that Bokuto wasn’t emo because he wanted to. It was part of him, a part of him he’d created maybe as a defense against something else. That volleyball, even if it was the team’s pride and joy, could mean so many different things.

That human beings were easily hurt, scared, and broken. 

And then the years passed. Time healed. Around the time Shirofuku moved in, there had been a thief going around his house. The thief did not aim for his manga works or his money. This thief stole something else. 

“I’m home,” Shirofuku called. The door opened with a bang, closed with a bang. 

He moved in a flash. From behind the door he tackled her, wrapping his arms around her, till all he could feel was Shirofuku. No, Yukie. Snowflake. Her scent, her soft skin and the muscles beneath it. “You’re under arrest, Shirofuku,” he said into her hair. 

He felt the sound of her laughter. Good laughter was something you felt, corresponding in your soul, rather than something that just entered your ears. “Arrest? Why?”

“Theft.”

“Prove it. Just because I left fingerprints all over your house doesn’t mean it’s evidence.”

“I don’t have evidence. But you definitely stole.”

“What did I steal?”

He loved her because there was no reason not to. He loved her because she was the only woman he could see himself sinning with, glorifying in sin, because it would be exhilarating, it would be divine, it would be worth it. It would be the finest of crimes because he’d commit it with her, Yukie, and her alone. She would be the one he’d conspire with and plan million-dollar thefts and best of all, he’d be able to hold her hand when they would run away. 

“Nothing much,” said Akashi, and he took her hand and pressed it on the left side of his chest. “Just my heart. It’s been stolen. Gone. Vamoosh.”

THE END


End file.
